Wren in Doubt, Act
by IronRaven
Summary: At Stronghold Wren, Sabine is confronted by the fact she is trying to walk two paths, for two families, in two wars. She has something to think about, and someone.


**Wren in Doubt, Act.**

The blue man.

The blue man in white.

The blue man with red eyes.

The blue man was in her room. "Cut it up and bring the art to my headquarters. Then destroy this ship and this base." He paused. "Belay that- bring me a valance torch. I'll do the cutting myself, then you may destroy everything we leave behind."

"Yes Sir!" The Stormtrooper officer at the blue man's side saluted crisply. "What to do with the prisoners?"

"Lord Vader will want the Jedi. Retire the clone if it hasn't expired already. And bring the Twi'lek with us. Liquidate the rest."

"What of the Mandalorian girl, Sir? She is a defector."

"Which Mando?" The blue man frowned for a moment. "Oh, you mean the artist. Ignore her, she's harmless."

In the background, she could hear blaster fire and screaming. Fear, terror. Rage. She could feel it, running off Ezra the strongest, like a river high with the spring melt. Ezra. No, he had stop, he had to step back and not give himself to it. Ezra...

-.- - ..- .-. ... ... .. .-. .. ... -.- - ..- .-. -.-. .-.. .- -.

"Ezra!" Sabine was looking around wildly, disoriented. This wasn't the _Ghost_. This was her old room, on Krowsnest. But she'd just been on Atollon. Thrawn was on the _Ghost. _In her other room and... and Chopper Base had fallen.

She was standing by her bed, soaked in sweat and fear. She could feel the tears streaking down cheeks. She was home and home was falling. The world was spinning as she tried to determine where she was. She could feel a tear fall from her jaw, and hiss into nothing.

She wasn't on the _Ghost_, or at Chopper Base. She was home, on Krowsnest, at Stronghold Wren. This house and the troglodytic tunnels and caches hidden under the mountains, the woods and the ponds, this is where she'd grown up.

The Darksaber was still ignited in her right hand, with one of her Westars in the left. She looked to the rack for her armour on the other side of the room- this blaster had been in the holster when she'd laid down, and the Darksaber certainly had been on her belt. She glanced back her bed. The gold Westar was by her pillow where she'd left it.

She'd drawn the blue one from it's holster. Of course- it was the one that belonged in her left hand. It's holster was empty, wrapped around the waist of the dummy. The belt was still here. On the other side of the room.

She powered down the Darksaber before her legs buckled. She slumped onto the edge of her bed. She looked at her weapons again, and at her armour. On the other side...

"Damn you," she snarled, glaring at the sword in her right hand. "Damn you Tar Vizla. I don't want everything that goes with... with... this. This thing! This sword! Damn you... Damn you Ezra..."

Ezra. She could feel his fear. His and Hera's and Kannen and Zeb. She'd heard Chopper screaming like she never heard before. She could even feel every member of Phoenix Squadron. The sign she'd given them, it was burning. The symbol they wore and followed. And she could feel it.

She continued to look at the Darksaber. "I can't do this. I'm not... I can't be..." There was no voice, but she could a wave of... something. Duty. Honor. Purpose. Love. Confidence. In her, to her. Like the one she felt when she put on her armour, her helmet, but older. Richer. This was the one lightsaber that was made of beskar.

Time passed in a glacial silence as she stared at the weapon in her hand. Kanan had been right- it got lighter in her hand as she'd become accustomed to it, it floated in her grip. Tar Visla must have had small hands.

_Wren._ A thought. A bird. Black and grey with yellow markings, her family's colors.

She set the sword down on her bed next to the gold Westar, reaching for her comlink. It was heavy as the thoughts chased themselves in her mind.

_Ghost._ A ship. A crew.

She set her blue pistol on the bed, so the two of them flanked the Darksaber.

_Team._ A word that Galactic had taken from the oldest of Mando tongues, meaning hearth, meaning family, part of a clan.

It only took a moment to dial the first combination she'd ever learned. As soon as the connection opened, she spoke formally, without pleasantries. "Warrior Sabine Wren requests an audience with Countess Wren as soon as possible."

_Clan. _Families, together, a family of families. An Alliance of families. Family means that you have someone to watch your back. Someone to cover your retreat. Someone who will come for you when you're outnumbered. Someone who picks you up when you're injured, and will stand for you when you fall. A hand raised with yours, a voice to speak with yours. It gives you a past, it gives you a future. Family... a ship, a building, becomes home with a family in it. Without a family, it's just a shelter.

"Sabine, I was just about to ask you to report to the Hall. It seems your young Jedi friend is in trouble, he just requested permission to land. He has one of our ships, and he sounded... desperate."

"Right away, Mother."

Sabine was already wearing the skintight that formed the first layer of the armour. She dressed quickly, holstering her weapons, checking that she had spare power packs and her tools and various explosives. She hesitated before picking up the Darksaber. She felt the warmth brush against her. "Damn it, Ezra."

**Author's Notes:** I do believe that Sabine is what we once called "Force sensitive". That she can wield the Darksaber isn't a big deal- other people carried lightsabers, thousands of years ago. But she moves like a Jedi, and she's a polymath, a trait common to the Jedi. She did make a serious showing of herself against Inquisitors, Dark Jedi. Even the Bindu seemed to think she was worth waking up to check out, maybe he even moved there to watch her training. And Kannan said it was _not_ a matter of her not having the Force, but was she was _closed_ to it.


End file.
